In You I Trust
by TabbyCat33098
Summary: Sherlock is back, but he says he isn't real. John doesn't agree. Post-Reichenbach.


A/N: Not sure where this came from. I've been feeling like crap all day, and I guess that transferred to my muse. This is the first angst piece I've written in a while, but it's still Sherlock, haha. I just can't stop with these boys. This is definitely one of my longer one-shots. It gets a little rushed near the end because my dad was constantly bugging me to finish it, but I still like it. I also have the next ACOMI chapter a little over halfway finished, so expect that in a week or so. Happy reading!

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**In You I Trust**

The first time he appears, John has just been called in by Lestrade to help on a case. It's John's first case without Sherlock, his first case as the world's only consulting detective. It appears to be a straight and easy murder case, but John knows something must be weird about for Lestrade to call him in on it.

He's examining the body, trying to fully analyse it like Sherlock did, when he hears a familiar voice in his ear. "You're better than you were when we first met, at least," it says. "But you're missing something vital. Look at her jewelry."

John gasps quietly and whirls around. Sure enough, Sherlock is standing behind him, his hands crossed behind his back and a twinkle in his eye.

"John? Are you alright?" Lestrade asks, and John turns wide eyes on him. Can't he see Sherlock? Doesn't he realize Sherlock's here, Sherlock's alive?

"You don't…?" John starts, trailing off when Lestrade only looks at him oddly. "Never mind, I thought I heard something. Must have been a draft." He bends over the body again, continuing where he had left off.

"The jewelry, John, the jewelry!" Sherlock says urgently. He's bent over behind John, examining the body with his own eyes but not impeding John's own investigation.

"What are you?" John whispers through his teeth. Nevertheless, he turns his eyes towards the woman's jewelry. Which isn't there.

"Where's her jewelry, Lestrade?" John asks.

"Jewelry? What jewelry?" Lestrade answers.

"A classic set, a necklace with matching earrings. Look, you can see the slight tan line on her neck, where the necklace rested. She never took it off; she must have been attached to it. Why would it be missing? As for the earrings, her ears are pierced. Which could be explained away easily enough, but her earlobes are also stretched slightly, a sign that she wore earrings, heavy ones, and regularly. This degree of a stretch can't be achieved if she isn't wearing the earrings constantly. A woman this color conscience would have only worn a matching set. But it's missing. Where is it?" John concludes. Sherlock applauds quietly. John knows he's smiling, the small, genuine smile he only reserved for John, not the knowing smirk he turned towards the masses.

Lestrade is silent for several moments. "You sounded exactly like Sherlock there, John," he notes quietly. Then he shakes it off. "There was never any jewelry. She was like this when we found her."

"There's your motive," John says with a nod. He rises stiffly to his feet. "Most likely the murderer will try to pawn it; keep an eye out for it. Most likely the killer followed her, pulled her into this alley, and tried to take the jewelry from her. She wouldn't give it up, there was a fight, he hit her on the head and assumed she was simply unconscious. But the swelling remained untreated and ended up killing her. There you go, case solved." He smiles at the Detective Inspector, holding in a laugh at the awed look in his eyes, and turns to catch a taxi.

"Splendidly carried out," Sherlock says with approval once they're seated in the cab and heading to John's new flat.

"Right, yes, what are you?" John says again.

"I would have thought that obvious, John," Sherlock says, raising an eyebrow.

"You're clearly not real. A specter of my imagination, then? A hallucination?"

"A projection," Sherlock corrects. "Your subconscious craves my direction, my guidance, and so it has manipulated your thoughts into manifesting themselves in my form to fulfill that craving."

"So you're me, then?" John asks, his head reeling.

"In a sense, yes," Sherlock confirms. John remains silent for a minute.

"So you're really dead?" he asks.

Sherlock cocks his head, a twinkle appearing in his eye, and remains silent. John isn't sure how to interpret that.

"Right. How long are you going to be here for?" John dares to ask. He doesn't know if he could handle Sherlock leaving again, even if he isn't real this time. He'd like to prepare himself for it, if he can.

Sherlock smiles oddly. "As long as you need me, John," he says simply. John nods and accepts it.

That's alright, he thinks. As far as he's concerned, he'll always need Sherlock.

Sherlock takes to accompanying John when he goes out on cases and staying at John's flat the rest of the time. At least, John assumes he stays at John's flat when he isn't there. He can't quite make certain, seeing as Sherlock isn't actually a person anymore. But he's always there when John gets back from wherever he's been, so he doesn't think about it much. He kind of wishes Sherlock would go out with him even when he isn't on a case, but he isn't entirely sure how to bring it up.

He's spared the trouble. "You need only ask," Sherlock says when John walks in that night.

"Ask what?" John says as he shrugs off his coat.

"If you wish me to give you company even when we are not working on a case. You could even simply will it, but as you assume me to be a real human being, separate from your mind, that would not work. Asking me serves much the same purpose. It just fools your mind effectively," Sherlock explains.

John doesn't even pretend to understand what Sherlock is going on about. "Alright then. Whatever you say. Will you come out with me, then?" he asks.

Sherlock smiles. "It would be my pleasure."

From then on, John doesn't feel quite as lonely as he used to.

He isn't entirely sure how to address Sherlock, though. He acts enough like Sherlock that John is properly fooled, but he doesn't seem to need anything normal human beings need, even less so than the actual Sherlock did. Or the pre-fall Sherlock, really, because they're both real to John. Post-fall Sherlock doesn't seem to require food or water and never needs to use the restroom. He doesn't seem to do much other than lie around and maybe watch some telly if John puts it on. He's still as lazy as pre-fall Sherlock, which is rather amusing to John and just helps confirm that post-fall Sherlock is just as real as pre-fall Sherlock.

"Stop worrying about me, John," Sherlock says one evening.

"I'm not worrying about you," John says defensively.

Sherlock simply stares at him. He taps his forehead once. "That won't work with me, John. I know everything you're thinking."

"Yeah, that's something I've been wondering about," John says. "How come I don't know what you're thinking?"

Sherlock smirks. "Because my thoughts _are_ your thoughts, John. Everything I think has already been thought by you. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."

"Right," John says doubtfully.

"But don't try and distract me, John. It won't work. And don't worry about me either. I'll tell you if I need anything. Have I ever not?" Sherlock continues.

John has to laugh at that. "Fair enough," he agrees, and drops the subject.

He's still dubious about being as smart as Sherlock seems to think, but as he begins to solve more and more cases without Sherlock's directive prodding, he can't helping thinking the theory has some credence. After all, he's learning, isn't he? He's becoming better and better at this detective lark. He won't ever be as good as Sherlock, of course. The man was a natural. But he's definitely better than most people in the field of detective field. He's rather proud of his skills, too, and he can tell Sherlock is as well.

But the fact remains that Sherlock has started to offer less and less input in the cases John sets out to assist Lestrade with. The thought scares John a little. If Sherlock can no longer offer input, what else can he do? It's clear that Sherlock is here for one purpose only: to help John in his investigations. When Sherlock can no longer do that, does it mean John no longer needs him? Does it mean Sherlock will…disappear?

The fear grows when John realizes Sherlock has started to grow weaker and weaker. He no longer does anything other than lie on the couch and watch telly when they're home, and he has to visibly make an effort to follow John out. It gets so bad that John tells him to just stay in the flat when they aren't solving cases, and even when they are, he doesn't allow Sherlock out of the flat for less than an 8. And all the time, John worries about what this means, whether Sherlock will be able to stay with him much longer, whether he really doesn't need Sherlock any longer.

It's the last thought that scares him the most. John had never imagined a time when he wouldn't need Sherlock. Sherlock's his best mate; how could he ever not need his best mate? It makes John feel inadequate, unable to give Sherlock the affection and admiration the man deserves. Sherlock's been abandoned and ignored his entire life by nearly everyone he knew. Not even Lestrade feels truly comfortable around the detective, and John knows Lestrade was Sherlock's closest friend before he came along.

It feels a lot like John's betraying Sherlock by not needing him anymore. He's the one thing Sherlock could and did count on, and now he's leaving Sherlock behind, too. He's no better than any of the others. If anything, he's worse, because he gave Sherlock a taste of happiness and then snatched it away.

It makes him sick.

"You're worrying again," Sherlock says, his voice muffled because his head is lying in John's lap. And John's mind must be incredibly good at fooling him, because Sherlock definitely feels real, and not like a ghost or phantom at all.

John hums in agreement, past trying to fool Sherlock because no matter how hard he tries, it never works.

"You've figured it out," Sherlock says. John knows exactly what he's talking about. They both do. And yet, neither of them wants to say it.

"How long do I have left with you?" John asks, bracing himself for the answer. It can't be long. Sherlock is growing more and more lethargic with every passing moment, and even John, who doesn't have half of Sherlock's detective skills, can tell Sherlock has a few months left at most.

"I would say three months, possibly four," Sherlock says, confirming John's suspicions. John accepts it with a nod. "You shouldn't treat yourself like that. You should be proud that you're able to solve cases without me."

"You know why I'm not," John says. He doesn't think he could explain to Sherlock exactly why he feels so terrible about not needing him anymore. It would make him feel even worse about himself than he already does.

"Yes, I do," Sherlock muses. "A completely illogical rationale, if I may say so. You have done well, John. I don't feel betrayed or disappointed. I feel proud that you have picked up my craft so well. And in any case, I'm not real, am I? You won't be betraying anyone, John. You're simply learning to no longer depend on me."

"Don't say that," John says fiercely. "You're just as real as you ever were. I don't know why you're so bent on convincing me you're just a figment of my imagination, because you're not."

Sherlock smiles sadly. "I suppose I tried," he says and falls silent.

He's still there when John meets a woman his age named Mary Morstan at the surgery a month later. He's there when John begins dating her, and he's there when John falls in love with her and proposes. It's quite easily the happiest John has felt after Sherlock fell, and while he knows he's moving fast, he doesn't want to lost this opportunity.

He's even more confident he's made the right decision when Sherlock expresses his tacit approval.

"She's a smart woman," the detective tells John the night he proposes and she accepts. They're celebrating. More accurately, John is celebrating while Sherlock sits there and smiles about John's happiness.

John looks at him strangely. "I thought you didn't care much for women? Other than _The_ Woman, of course."

"Yes, well, Mary is proof that the female gender has hope left yet," Sherlock says, and John can't help but think he sounds a little defensive.

"Are you actually admitting you were wrong?" John teases.

"I am doing no such thing," Sherlock says sullenly and rolls over to face the wall. John laughs.

He's there at the wedding, and John feels a twinge of disappointment that he can't be the best man. That spot is held by Mike Stamford instead, with whom John has kept off-and-on contact for several years. Sherlock stands behind Mike anyway, and John has to suppress a laugh at Sherlock's usual stubborn behavior. But at the same time, John can't help but notice that Sherlock looks paler than usual, and that he's leaning against the banister to stay upright. A lance of sadness shoots through John's heart, keeping the love for Mary company, and he knows he doesn't have more than a few weeks left with Sherlock.

Sherlock moves in with John and Mary, although Mary doesn't know he's there. And John finally starts to accept that Sherlock really isn't back from the dead, he really is a figment of John's imagination. He's been in denial so long that this sudden realization nearly topples his world on its head. He goes out for a jog, telling Mary he'll be back in time for dinner, and tries to sort his thoughts out.

It's not much of a surprise when Sherlock joins him. After all, he has nothing better to do back with Mary. She can't see him, and so she can't keep him company.

Sherlock is smiling when he catches up to John, and John can't help but laugh along.

"You've finally accepted it, I see," Sherlock says, and John shakes his head slightly.

"You aren't real," John says in reply. It feels almost liberating to say it out loud. And it makes him wonder. Back during that first case, when Sherlock had prompted him to look at the missing jewelry, had it really just been John all along? Had John really picked up so much from Sherlock?

"I've been telling you all along," Sherlock says, his voice colored with humor. "You're smarter than you think. I'm proud of you, John."

John chuckles. "A bit narcissistic, that. After all, I'm just telling myself how proud I am, aren't I?"

"But that's just the thing, John," Sherlock says seriously. "While I may be a manifestation of your subconscious desire to gain my approval, I'm still what you believe I would be like were I truly here." And isn't that all kinds of convoluted? "In simpler terms, I am what I would be were I still alive."

John shakes his head and clears it of the thoughts spinning through it at light speed. "Too complicated, Sherlock," he tells the younger man. "We'll just say you're a figment of my imagination and leave it at that, alright?"

Sherlock laughs. "Alright, John. Whatever you believe is best." They walk a little farther before returning home, and John feels a lot more comfortable with Sherlock's inevitable departure than he did before.

And then one day, Sherlock is simply…gone. There is no trace of him. He isn't in any of the rooms, he isn't outside walking through the garden, he isn't hiding in the bed. He's well and truly gone. It pains John, still makes him feel like he's betraying the detective's memory, but he holds onto Sherlock's words, and it makes it okay, somehow. He may not need Sherlock anymore, but he can still honor the detective's legacy as best he can.

"John? There's someone at the door for you. He says he's an old friend?" Mary calls as John walks out of the bathroom.

"Is it Mike?" he asks.

"No, I don't know who it is. He won't give me his name either," Mary replies.

John furrows his eyebrows. There aren't too many people it could be. Lestrade would have called or texted before coming over, and he just isn't close friends with anyone else. He makes his way to the front door.

What he finds sends him reeling.

"I, erm. I suppose I have a lot to explain," Sherlock says.

"Mary, could you give us a moment?" John says faintly. His wife looks at him with concern, but he waves her away. "I'm fine, just. Give us a moment. Please."

She glances at Sherlock again before leaving.

John and Sherlock stare at each other in silence for several minutes. Finally, John breaks the silence. "You're real this time," he says. "Mary could see you."

"Yes. What do you mean?" Sherlock says, peering at him closely. "I'm real _this time_?"

John simply shakes his head.

"Well. I'm back," Sherlock says after another minute, rather needlessly in John's opinion. It appears his brush with death has made him slightly addle-brained. He holds back a laugh at the thought.

"You never left," he says instead.

**FIN**


End file.
